Chapter 6 #2
"I didn't stop to ask if we were ready for that kind of intensity. If you were giving from a place of strength... or from a place of wanting to be enough."
My eyes burn. "I wanted to be everything for you."
"I know." His voice cracks, just barely. "And I let that blind me. I should've been watching closer. I should've seen what it was costing you."
Silence pulses between us.
"I don't forgive you," he says, and my breath catches.
Then—"Because there's nothing to forgive.
You did what you had to do. You left before you lost yourself.
" He shifts, eyes on the horizon now, away from me.
"I forgive myself. For not seeing it. For being so wrapped up in the high of it—of you—that I missed what was slipping through my fingers. "
He looks back, meeting my gaze head-on. "I think about it. What we could've been if I'd slowed down. If I'd chosen you over what we were playing at. We could've had a life. A house. Kids. Sunday mornings in that crappy booth at the diner with a sticky-fingered toddler between us."
That image punches a soundless gasp from my chest.
"I think about what I ruined by not protecting you better. About the family we could've built."
"Noah..." I swallow hard.
“I'm not trying to drag you back into the past.” He shakes his head.
"You don't have to say anything. I just..
. I needed you to know I see it now. All of it.
And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't understand what I was doing.
I'm sorry I made it easier for you to leave than to stay.
" His voice is soft now. Stripped bare. "And I'm sorry it took me ten years to say .”
The sun dips lower behind him, casting his face in gold and shadow. And for a moment, I don't see the Fire Chief or the hometown hero.
I just see the boy who once loved me too much... and the man who finally understands why that love nearly broke us both.
The sincerity in his voice undoes something in me—some knot of defensiveness I've been carrying since I first saw him on that rainy road.
"I'm proud of you." The words feel inadequate. "What you've built here, what you've done for the community. It's remarkable."
"High praise from a big-city journalist." His smile—soft, genuine—makes my heart stutter.
"Don't push your luck." He laughs, the sound warming me from the inside.
The sun dips behind the western peaks, taking the day's warmth with it. I shiver involuntarily as the temperature drops.
"Cold?" Without waiting for an answer, Noah shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. The fabric carries his heat, his scent enveloping me.
"Thanks." My voice comes out huskier than intended.
He adjusts the collar, his fingers brushing my neck. "Can't have you catching pneumonia. Bad for tourism and publicity."
"Is that why you're being so nice to me? For the article?" I tease, but something shifts behind his eyes.
"You know that's not why."
His hands stay on the collar of my jacket, holding me in place like he's anchoring us both. We're inches apart now—close enough I can see the flecks of gray in his stubble, the faint scar near his temple, the tension rippling beneath the surface of his skin.
He doesn't move. Neither do I. Until with both do—all at once, with a force that knocks the breath clean out of me.
His mouth crashes down on mine, and it's not soft. It's not careful. It's heat and hunger, years of tension detonating between our bodies in one desperate, devastating kiss.
I gasp—he takes advantage, tongue sliding deep, claiming me like he never let go.
His hands find my waist, yanking me closer until there's no air, no space, no thought—just the hard press of his body against mine. I stumble back and feel stone at my spine, a flat sun-warmed boulder anchoring me as he steps between my legs.
His thigh wedges high between mine, lifting, grinding, and oh God—yes. The friction is immediate and unbearable. My hips roll without permission, chasing more, chasing him.
He groans into my mouth, a deep, guttural sound that sends lightning down my spine. One arm braces beside my head, the other drags me impossibly closer. I feel him then—hard and thick, straining through his jeans, pressing against my belly like a brand.
Every nerve in my body ignites.
My fingers claw into his shoulders and his back, needing somewhere to put the wildfire racing through me. I'm gasping into his mouth, biting his bottom lip, aching in places I forgot how to feel.
And he's everywhere. Mouth on mine. Breath hot against my skin. His intensity rolls off him in waves, raw and unfiltered, pulling me under. My thighs clench around his, helpless to the rhythm we've fallen into.
He presses his mouth to the curve of my neck, biting lightly just above my pulse.
"Christ, Riley."
My name is a low growl, a vow, and a warning all at once.
I arch into him, desperate, lost, and he catches me like he always did—sure, unshakable. He's still the boy who learned my body like a language, but now he's grown into a man who's fluent in it.
And just as I start to spiral—just as I let go of everything but him...
Squawk! His radio splits the moment like a thunderclap.
Noah freezes.
His forehead drops to mine, our breaths mingling, ragged and shallow. His hand flexes where it grips my hip, like it physically hurts to let go.
"Chief Morgan, come in."
The voice crackles, tinny and insistent.
He doesn't answer right away. Just stays there, his body holding mine against the stone, every inch of him humming with restraint, want, and frustration.
"I have to take this," he mutters, voice raw.
I nod, too breathless to speak.
And when he steps back, the air rushes in like a slap—cool and sharp and suddenly too empty.
Noah closes his eyes briefly, regaining composure, before responding. "Morgan here."
"Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but we've got hikers reported overdue on the north ridge trail. Parks department requesting assistance with the search."
"Copy that." His voice is steady, though his eyes never leave mine. "Coordinate with Rodriguez to assemble the team. I'll be there in twenty." He clips the radio back to his belt, regret written across his features. "Riley, I—"
"Go." I step back, creating necessary distance. "People need you."
"We're not done here." The intensity in his gaze steals my breath all over again. "This conversation. Us. It's not finished."
"I know." I'm not sure what I'm agreeing to or what this means for either of us, but I can't deny the truth. Whatever this is between us, it's far from over.
Noah hesitates, then presses a swift, hard kiss to my lips before turning toward the trail. "Keep the jacket. It looks better on you anyway."
Then he's gone, descending with sure-footed jog, leaving me alone with the emerging stars and the ghost of his touch.
I sink onto a nearby boulder, fingers rising to my lips where the imprint of his kiss still burns. How is it possible to feel so much after so long? To have every carefully constructed wall crumble with a single touch?
I wrap his jacket tighter around me, breathing in his scent, mind racing with impossible questions. I'm leaving in a few days. My life is in Chicago. His is here. Nothing has changed, not really.
Except everything has.
The distant wail of sirens rises from the valley as emergency vehicles mobilize for the search. Lights twinkle below where the festival continues, oblivious to my world turning upside down on this mountainside.
Professional boundaries.
They seemed so important this morning. Now, with the taste of Noah on my lips and the weight of unresolved feelings pressing on my chest, how did I ever think I could maintain any boundary at all?
And worse, I'm no longer sure I want to.